The Other Wyoming
Wyoming • November 2025
For 15 days straight, I sat in the backseat of a Jeep bouncing through the backcountry of Wyoming. There was one goal: the hunt of a lifetime. But somewhere along the way, I found myself discovering the other Wyoming.
Not Jackson Hole. Not the Tetons that fill postcards and Instagram feeds. I'm talking about the Wyoming where the high desert meets the Wind Rivers. The Wyoming where you can drive an hour down a Forest Service road and still not be "there" yet. The Wyoming you only see because you choose to. You don't stumble upon these places. You pursue them.
It all started because my friend drew Wyoming's elusive Super Tag for mule deer—a tag most hunters spend years, even decades, applying for without ever drawing. I tagged along to help with the kids, take some photos, and experience a hunt unlike anything I'd ever seen. By the end of those fifteen days, I had learned far more than I expected. Drop tines. Eye guards. Why a mature buck is judged differently than a young one. Why some hunters would rather "eat the tag" than settle for the wrong deer. And just how much patience, preparation, and respect it takes to hunt the West.
I rode in the backseat with the kids. Part-time scout and extra set of eyes, part-time kid wrangler. Snacks, conversations, and one ABC book I read so many times I could probably still recite it today. A is for Apron. B is for Buckskin... We took KOA campground showers, rotated between the same three restaurants in town, celebrated the end of the day with a cold beer, and somehow stuffed five people, hunting gear, toys, layers, snacks, and camera equipment into one Jeep every single morning. Looking back, I still don't know how we made it work. But when the purpose is big enough, you figure out the details.
It's interesting how fast you learn a place.
After enough mornings, you stop checking a map. You know where the creek crosses the road. Which ridge deserves a look at first light. Which valley is worth sitting on until dusk. You recognize the bends in the road and the lone tree on the horizon. Places that were unfamiliar just days before begin to feel strangely familiar.
You also learn your place in it.
You realize you're the outsider.
A light dusting of snow isn't just pretty—it tells the story of the wolf pack that passed through overnight. Fresh bear tracks make you stop and pay attention. When the guys are field dressing a deer in grizzly country, someone stays on overwatch while the rest of the family makes their way safely back to the Jeep. You trust the person behind the wheel because they know this country in a way you never will. Out here, the deer, coyotes, wolves, and bears belong. You're simply passing through.
On the last day of the season, after days of watching one particular buck, my friend finally got the shot he'd been waiting for. It was everything the hunt had been building toward.
But when I think back on those fifteen days, it's not the antlers that come to mind first.
I remember endless dirt roads disappearing into the horizon. Frost settling across the sagebrush before sunrise. The rhythm of reading children's books from the backseat. Learning to see a landscape through the eyes of the people who know it best.
I thought I was going to Wyoming to witness the hunt of a lifetime.
Instead, I came home having discovered a part of Wyoming most people will never see—not because it's hidden, but because they never have a reason to go looking for it.
Explore the Wyoming Collection
The photographs from this trip are available as fine art prints in my Darkroom gallery.
